


An angel to look at

by JauntyHako



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Samandriel is the awkward angel who always gets picked last for the team, SundayGadreel, all angels are alive, but so is Gadreel, ish?, so its okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4050073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JauntyHako/pseuds/JauntyHako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the SundayGadreel challenge on Tumblr: "I was born to look at you."</p>
<p>Gadreel already gave him odd looks whenever Samandriel pulled his wings tight. He couldn't help it. He'd grown up with stories about Gadreel, the ghost moaning in mortal pain in the deepest cells of Heaven. Heaven's Shame was fair game for a slew of cautionary tales.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An angel to look at

When Samandriel first came to rely on Gadreel it was not out of choice but lack thereof. Many of the angels who died in the civil war and its aftermath had been revived, if confined to their human vessels. Castiel assumed it was their father's way of preventing another war. Samandriel, who never wanted to become involved in the politics of heaven, thought it a welcome reprieve. It meant, however, getting used to living among humanity while also avoiding the demons and other angels who figured a lone angel with no access to Heaven an easy target. Teaming up with another angel in the same situation appeared a sound plan, even if it came from the Winchesters, whose plans usually involved an apocalypse or two. But no one wanted someone as young and inexperienced as him watching their back.

“Are you ready? We have to go.”

Samandriel sighed at the sight of the man before him and got up to follow him.

And no one wanted Heaven's greatest shame at their side.

 

Gadreel never spoke much on their travels across the continent, hunting creatures of all kinds. 'Making yourselves useful' Dean Winchester had called it, while teaching them and about a dozen other angels the art of human subterfuge and fraud. It was marginally better than sitting around doing nothing.

Occasionally, when the silence became too stifling, Samandriel played with the thought of striking up conversation. He always discarded the idea. What would he say?  
“So, heard the stories about you snatching fledglings from their flocks?”

Or

“They say when angels are disobedient you come to them in the night and rip all their feathers out.”

Or even

“Did Lucifer seduce you to leave the gates of Eden unattended or was it more a case of mutual evil ambition?”

He suspected Gadreel would take offense at those kinds of conversation starters. He already gave him odd looks whenever Samandriel pulled his wings tight. He couldn't help it. He'd grown up with stories about Gadreel, the ghost moaning in mortal pain in the deepest cells of Heaven. Of Lucifer they only ever spoke in hushed whispers and with no little amount of mourning. He had been the most beautiful of them all.

But Heaven's Shame was fair game for a slew of cautionary tales.

It had been like that for hours, both spending the drive in uncomfortable silence, when Gadreel spoke up.

“I heard you speak in your dreams last night.” he ventured, throwing the sentence out between them for Samandriel to pick up. The sudden change in their routine caught him off guard.

“It's nothing.” he said, sharper than needed, as Gadreel ducked his head in apology and said no more.

For a while they drove on like that, their lack of conversation heavier on Samandriel's mind than ever. He hadn't meant to be rude and even if he didn't hold much love for him, Gadreel had done nothing to deserve his anger. Nothing recent, anyway.

“It's just night terrors.” Samandriel said at last, not apologising, he couldn't do that, not to Gadreel, but trying to smoothe things over.

Gadreel nodded.

“I have them, too.”

That was hardly news. More often than not Samandriel woke from his own nightmares – the stench of blood clogging up his nose, the throbbing pain in his head making him tear at his hair – because of the muffled screams from the other bed. But if he admitted to knowing about them, he'd have no excuse for not waking Gadreel. He didn't know if Gadreel would even ask, would even accuse him of leaving him to suffer with his own dreams, but his own conscience wouldn't allow him to say anything. So he only hummed in response and watched them rushing past the trees.

Occasionally he caught Gadreel shifting out of the corner of his eyes, desperate to make another conversation attempt. But Samandriel never turned around, never said a word. Eventually, Gadreel gave up.

 

 

Their next hunt led them into a small village in the south of Montana. Though the term village projected a larger picture than what they encountered. Samandriel counted a dozen houses and most of them appeared to be vacant. The yards were empty except for some shrubbery and the one playground had seen better days. This place was half a generation away from becoming a ghost town. And if the reports were to be trusted, there was at least one supernatural being wishing to speed up that process.

There was a woman, who was physician, coroner, veterinarian and, oddly, plumber in one. She didn't buy their story about being writers for a tourist guide, but shared what she knew either way. From her story and what little they found on the scenes of death, they concluded there to be indeed a non-human creature of some kind stalking the few residents left.

“It's a Ge-no'sqwa', a stone giant. A lone one, I believe.” Gadreel said on their way back to the motel, a few miles down the road. Samandriel, who'd prepared himself mentally for an evening filled with research, raised his brows.

“How do you know?”

“I remember them. Their kind used to walk the earth, shaking it with every step. I have never heard of them coming this far south, but perhaps this one got separated from its kin.”

Samandriel knew better than to ask if he was sure. Gadreel was one of the oldest angels in creation, he remembered creatures thought long extinct. What with Michael and Lucifer trapped in the Cage and so many of their siblings dead, the chances stood well that Gadreel was the oldest one alive. True or not, his experience far surpassed Samandriel's own, even with his long imprisonment.

“How do we kill it?”

Gadreel hesitated.

“Perhaps … I will not endanger the innocent people living here, but we may not have to kill the creature.” he said, slowly. “They never held much love for humanity, but had a deep friendship with us angels. There may be a chance to reason with it.”  
Samandriel wasn't a big fan of that idea.

“We are both near powerless. A surprise attack may be our only chance to best it. I would prefer not to jeopardise my life on a maybe.”

There was another brief moment of hesitation.

“I will go alone, then.” Gadreel said and continued, before Samandriel could protest: “I will speak with the stone giant and if he is unwilling or unable to be reasoned with, my attempt will still serve as a distraction for you to strike.”

 

As plans went, this one was as good as it got. Samandriel agreed and allowed Gadreel to teach him the method of killing the stone giant before they headed out after only a short rest at the motel, hoping to catch it before another fell victim to it.

 

The stone giant, it turned out, could not be reasoned with. Stone giants, it also turned out, had a marvelous sense of hearing. While Gadreel was still speaking to it, in a language so old Samandriel had trouble comprehending it, it turned and focused it's tiny gem-like eyes on him. The blow, carried out by half a ton of solid stone, came too sudden for him to react. He managed only to raise the weapon, a stake made from obsidian and drenched in oils, when Gadreel pushed him aside, taking a good deal of the damage meant for Samandriel.

It was over quickly, after that. The giant, with all its power, was slow in its reactions, allowing Samandriel to dive in and drive the stake through its eyes, which shattered in a glittering mist.

What was left was only assessing his own wounds (few) and those of Gadreel (many).   
“Can you walk?” Samandriel asked as he helped him to his feet. Gadreel swayed for a moment but caught his balance and nodded. Still he needed to lean on Samandriel on their way back, his left side badly bruised with broken bones in between.

 

By the time they reached the motel Gadreel was pale and shaking and sighing a breath of relief when he sat down on the bed.

“Are you, um, alright?” Samandriel asked in lieu of a better option. Gadreel _had_ put himself in harms way to save him. He had to at least ask how he was.

“I will be fine.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Samandriel fidgeted, feeling there was something, anything, else he ought to say.

“Thank you.” he said quickly and fled to the bathroom before Gadreel could answer.

That night, when nightmares found Gadreel, leaving him crying out in imagined pain, Samandriel turned his back as always, but, for the first time, felt remorse at doing so.

 

Days turned into months on the road and before Samandriel noticed summer had passed and made way for autumn. A whole season with only Heaven's Shame for company. To his surprise little of the stories he'd been told as a fledgling turned out to be true. Of course he knew that Gadreel was no specter, no apparition to steal children or their wings. But he was no crazed murderer either, no ambitious leech nor a corrupted soul. In fact, when talking to the widows and orphans of victims they sought to bring justice for, it was Samandriel who failed to find the right words. When he was asked why, why God would allow this to happen, he was at a loss. But Gadreel knew the right thing to say to ease their pain and he always took the time to do so. Not only did Gadreel fail to live up to his reputation, he was also on the best way to establish himself as the gentlest angel in creation. That time with the stone giant hadn't been the last opportunity for Gadreel to incur wounds on behalf of Samandriel and with every incident he found it harder to keep his distance. It didn't do to ignore the angel who routinely, and without a thought, saved your life. Even if that angel was Gadreel himself.

“Can I ask you a question?” Samandriel asked one evening while cleaning a wound on Gadreel's arm. The gash was deep and bled profusely, but was easily stitched.

“Of course.”

“The stories people tell about you. Do they bother you?”

Samandriel had mused about that question before, wondered if the ever stoic Gadreel was affected by them. It never occurred to him that he might have only a very general idea of what his family thought about him.

“What stories?”

Samandriel almost dropped the needle. He flailed to get a hold of it again, stuttering and mumbling all the while.

“I … you don't … I mean … you know, the stories, um …”

Gadreel stared at him with vague confusion.

“No, I don't know.”

“Um, I … oh Father, I should not have mentioned it. My apologies.”

He made to stand up, but Gadreel held him back with his uninjured arm.

“No, please wait.” Their vessels had a good head in height differences. Samandriel was not used to Gadreel looking up to him, much less this sheepish. “What … what are people saying? Can't you tell me?”

You brought this on yourself, Samandriel scolded himself, knowing that he couldn't deny Gadreel his request, not after he'd taken a wendigo bite for him.

“They … they say when an angel fails in their appointed task you pluck their wings. And when fledglings stray too far from their flock it's you who nabs them and carries them away.”   
Samandriel wished he'd say something, but Gadreel merely listened. His face betrayed nothing of what he thought. He might as well have been talking about going out for supplies.

“It's just silly stories.” Samandriel said when he had relayed all that he remembered of the stories he'd been told as a child. “No one really believes them. It's just stories.”

The excuse felt hollow.

“I understand.” Gadreel said and that was all he said. He should have been angry, or sad or bitter. There should be some emotion for Samandriel to react to.

“I'm sor-”

“You are not to blame.” Gadreel interrupted. “I would like to rest now, if there is nothing more.”

Samandriel had no other choice but to let him. When he had stored away their first aid supplies, Gadreel was already in bed, his back turned.

 

Samandriel expected the nightmares by now. They were an almost nightly occurrence and thus familiar in their horror. He didn't expect to wake to muffled sobs, the memory of Crowley's red eyes boring into his with callous curiosity following him like a wisp.

Gadreel didn't usually cry in his sleep. He moaned and groaned and sometimes screamed between clenched teeth, but he'd never before spilled tears.

“Gadreel?” Samandriel asked before he could think better of it. The sobbing stopped abruptly, leaving only the rain outside to fill the silence. He could hear him breathe between the far-off thunder, muffled in here.

“I had a nightmare.” Gadreel said and Samandriel could feel the lie three feet over.

“Okay.” Samandriel said softly.

They spent a good twenty minutes with their backs turned on each other, staring off into the dark. It was never really dark in their rooms, both of them had found out early they slept better with the light in the bathroom open and the door ajar to allow a sliver of it through. Samandriel followed that line of light with his eyes forward and backward.

Only when he heard rustling did he stop, waiting for Gadreel to speak or get up.

“Samandriel?”

“Yes?”

“I didn't have a nightmare.”

Samandriel turned around as well. Now they faced each other, but he'd be damned if he was any the wiser on how to approach this topic.

“Okay?” he said again, hoping it was enough to keep Gadreel talking.

“Does our family really … do they really tell all these stories to the children?”

Samandriel wished he could have lied. Unfortunately he was about as good a liar as Gadreel was and thus forced to stick to the truth.

“Yes.” he said. “But, Gadreel, they wouldn't if they knew you. Really knew you, I mean. Most people know only about what happened in the garden. They never met you.” Samandriel said, quick enough to stumble over his own words. “If they knew you, they wouldn't tell these stories. You're very kind and gentle and if they knew that they wouldn't … they wouldn't say these things about you.”

He realised he was rambling and stopped, grateful that what little light there was wasn't enough to reveal his red cheeks.

“Samandriel …” Gadreel paused and Samandriel tactfully pretended not to have heard the hitch in his breathing. “Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Sure.”

“Could we … talk? A little?”

“What about?”

Gadreel shrugged.

“Anything. I just wish for your company.”

No one had ever expressed their wish for Samandriel's company before. He was young, had little experience in life, and was never of much help with the important things. That was how he came to manage Heaven's earthly wealth to begin with. It was work no one else wanted and that was rarely important enough to warrant someone older. In all the centuries he'd been alive, no one had ever just wanted to talk to him.

“Oh.” he said, dumbfounded.

“If it's too much trouble …”

“No! I mean, no. It's no trouble.”

And it wasn't. Talking to Gadreel, it turned out, was easier than months of silent road trips had made it seem. He started by asking questions, mostly the same ones he'd been curious about since they started traveling together. But it quickly evolved from there, leading to them comparing stories of Heaven how it used to be and how it was now. It didn't surprise Samandriel in the least that things used to be more harmonious.

“What do you mean, no one taught you how to fly? How else would you learn?” Gadreel asked, flabbergasted in a way that had Samandriel laugh. He was dimly aware of a condition humans called sleep-deprivation and wondered if angels could be afflicted by it. The thought caused another giggle fit.

“Well, you just try, no? Eventually you work it out. No one would have the time to teach the fledglings how to fly.”  
Gadreel shook his head in disbelief.

“People used to argue over who got to teach the young ones. It was … fun.”  
“Who taught you?” Samandriel asked on a whim.

For the first time in a while Gadreel hesitated with his answer. Up until now he had answered every question without a pause.

“What is it?” Samandriel asked, worrying he'd offended Gadreel somehow. Gadreel shook his head and smiled.

“It was Lucifer. Lucifer taught me.”  
“Oh. I … didn't know.” Samandriel said and then, because he couldn't keep his mouth shut and when did you get the chance to talk to someone who'd known Lucifer before he fell? “What was he like? Before the war?”

“Beautiful.” They both laughed at that. “I know, it's what everyone says about him, but it's true. You should have seen his wings, breaking the light like a prism. The world was always better when he was around. He used to say that Father made the angels so beautiful because every single one of us was born to look at another. He said that Father loved Michael best, so he made him the most beautiful angel of all to look at.”

“Is that true? That every angel is meant for someone?”

“... I believe it is, yes.”

And for the love of their Father, Samandriel could not figure out the strange expression on Gadreel's face.

 

They talked almost every night after that. And most of the days, too. Some dam had broken, resulting in a flood of conversations, one deeper than the one before. They never ran out of things to talk about. Samandriel would not have thought himself to have much in common with the man who let Lucifer into the garden, and he didn't. Because the Gadreel in the stories was not the Gadreel he had befriended.

With their newfound friendship it was easier to wake Gadreel up in the night when terrors haunted his dreams and he always returned the favour. Eventually the nightly walks over to the other bed grew too tiresome. It was only natural, they argued to sleep in one bed. That way they would only ever have to reach out.

They got a few odd glances when they checked into motels and requested on bed instead of two, but since neither could figure out what they meant, the matter got put aside and filed under “things to ask Dean Winchester during the next call”.

Autumn turned colder each night and Samandriel found himself enjoying the presence of Gadreel's body not only for the company, but for the warmth, too. His vessel was lithe enough to be embraced completely by Gadreel and he in turn appeared to enjoy holding him.

Usually when he dreamed, Samandriel dreamed only about Crowley and his torture. Nothing else of interest had happened to him, but his mind was happy to present the same scenario over and over again. Tonight was the first time he didn't dream about being tortured by Crowley. The demon was there, just where he always stood, eyes ever red. But in the chair, blood dripping from the wounds in his head, sat not Samandriel himself, but Gadreel.

“No. No, that's not fair.” Samandriel protested, knowing what inevitably came next. Crowley screwed the device tighter, and Gadreel screamed, his fingers breaking like twigs from how hard he clenched them.

“No, no, no, no. Stop it. Stop.” Samandriel begged but he had no mouth to speak with, no hands to tear away the thing that used to cause him so much pain. “No, please. This is my dream, my pain, mine alone. Please, no.”

Again Crowley dug deeper, wrenching another scream out of Gadreel. Who, breathing hard and blinking the blood out of his eyes looked up and directly at him.

“Samandriel.” he said, his voice more wheeze than whisper.

“Gadreel. Father, Gadreel, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”  
“Samandriel.”

“Please, I want to help, please, I'm so-”  
“Samandriel, wake up!”

The blood vanished, Crowley disappeared and the cold stone walls of the factory turned into the obnoxious pattern of their motel room. Gadreel was still there and he still looked distressed, but there was no torture device, no obvious wounds.  
He couldn't avert his eyes, feared the moment he did so he'd slip into the nightmare again.

“It was you, it was you. It should have been me, but it was you and this never happened before, it was always me and ...”

He only realised he was crying when Gadreel wiped the tears away. His thumb dragged over his check and somehow, through the panic and the wild beating of his heart, Gadreel's voice got through to him.

“You are safe.”

He clung to Gadreel, searched for the hints of Grace that these days he had to concentrate to feel. When he had explained the concept to Sam Winchester he had called it an 'angel hug'. The only thing he knew was that their Grace intertwining gave him more comfort than any touch between their vessels ever could. Gadreel accepted the gesture without hesitation, even pulled them closer to each other.

Between lying in each other's arms and carressing each other with their Grace, Gadreel spoke to him in old languages, the kind angels hadn't spoken since before the war. The meaning, comfort and safety, reached Samandriel well enough, even if the exact words were foreign to him.

His mind sought desperately for something else to dwell on rather than the remnants of the nightmare. He found it in the thought that he ought to consider himself lucky to find a friend in an angel as old as Gadreel. In Heaven, he'd be so many ranks below him, they would likely never have seen each other.

“I dreamed it was you who got tortured by Crowley in my place.” Samandriel said. He thought he imagined the sigh of relief until Gadreel spoke.

“Thank Father. I only heard you begging and saying my name. I thought it was me who tortured you. I could never have forgiven myself.”  
Samandriel smiled into the crook of his neck.

“It was just a dream. Even if you had been my torturer, it wouldn't be your fault.”

“Still. I would take your torture any over one second of hurting you, real or no.”

The confession made Samandriel feel light-headed.   
“You are hardly in the place of needing more torture.” he said and added: “You've been sleeping so well these last nights, I would hate to rip open the wounds when they've just begun to heal.”  
He felt Gadreel kiss the top of his head.

“Our Father's forgiveness makes for a powerful ointment.”  
Samandriel looked up, confused.

“Father has forgiven you?”

“He must have.” Gadreel said, leaning down to capture Samandriel's lips in a kiss. “Why else would he have given me you to look at?”


End file.
